Where skulks unseen the beast of prey—
The native robber glares and hides,—
And treacherous death keeps watch alway
On him who flies, or he who bides.
In these deep tropic woods there grows
A tree, whose tall and silvery bole
Above the dusky forest shows,
As shining as a saintly soul
Among the souls of sinful men;—
Lifting its milk-white flowers to heaven,